Brialee Turner

At night,
the mind is a scary thing,
not even an object
but it takes on it’s own
form of life and starts
to mold itself in fear.

It’s a creature,
who as it tip toes
between dream land and
consciousness says,
“are you sure you haven’t fucked
up your entire life?”
and then travels to the
crevices of your mind and
pulls out,
like thin strings
all of the ideas and memories
you’ve suppressed
and then wraps them in the
deepness of fear.